SCENE XVIII.

_Alarums within, and a cry_--"_The_ DUKE JOYEUX _is slain_."

_Enter_[410] _the_ KING OF NAVARRE, BARTUS, _and train_.

_Nav._ The duke is slain, and all his power dispers'd, And we are graced with wreaths of victory. Thus God, we see, doth ever guide the right, To make his glory great upon the earth.

_Bar._ The terror of this happy victory, I hope, will make the king surcease his hate, And either never manage army more, Or else employ them in some better cause.

_Nav._ How many noblemen have lost their lives In prosecution of these cruel arms, 10 Is ruth, and almost death, to call to mind. But God we know will always put them down That lift themselves against the perfect truth; Which I'll maintain so long as life doth last,

And with the Queen of England join my force To beat the papal monarch from our lands, And keep those relics from our countries' coasts. Come, my lords; now that this storm is over-past, Let us away with triumph to our tents. [_Exeunt._